Family throwdown! Mariella Santiago-Marshall has just announced that she suspects one of her own children to be the Fixer. With Harrison in a coma, Luc and Rafe constantly taking swings at each other in public, and Elana wanting to postpone her wedding... Mariella needs to regain control! And this truth or dare challenge is the perfect start. So—who is going to ’fess up?
“You think one of us is the Fixer?” Luc asked his mother. “Yeah, right.”
“It has to be one of you chosen ones,” Elana shouted from the doorway of Harrison’s hospital room and marched out into the hallway, with the family right behind her. Her three-inch red-soled heels popped like gunfire against the winter-white marble floors. Now that she had everyone’s full attention, she pranced in front of her brothers, tossing her hair along with her accusations. “We all know I can’t be trusted to do anything.” She flashed an accusatory look at her mother, which Mariella promptly ignored.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rafe sputtered, ignoring his sister’s typical outburst. “How could it be one of us?”
“Ridiculous! Is that what you call some behind-the-scenes person manipulating our fucking lives—ridiculous? That’s the best response you can come up with, little brother?” Luc snarked.
Rafe swung his body toward Luc and got within inches from his face. “Are you the Fixer, Luc? I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Fuck you.”
Mariella stepped between her warring sons. She pressed her hand against Rafe’s chest and then Luc’s. “Stop! You are brothers. Act like it.”
Not put off by his mother’s intervention, and still ticked off from his fight with Rafe, Luc emitted an incredulous chuckle. “Obviously, Dad’s accident has taken its toll on you, if you think for a moment the Fixer could possibly be me. I barely have enough hours in the day to manage my practice without looking for ways to screw over my own family!”
“You could have fooled me,” Elana piped in, wanting to keep stirring the pot of discontent. “You’ve always been the one who thinks he knows best about everything and everyone. Maybe you fix lives like you do body parts. You never had a problem telling me what to do and what you think about what I do.”
“Somebody has to,” Luc threw back.
Elana’s dark hair showered her bare shoulders as she tossed her head back and laughed. “Typical. You always have to be right.”
“Enough!”
All eyes turned toward the command and seemed to notice Joe for the first time.
“For Christ’s sake,” he hissed. He gestured angrily to the room behind them, glared from one to the next and stepped in between the warring factions. “We’re in a hospital, and I don’t care how private and secret it is—people have ears. Not to mention that your father is just a few feet away.”
Mariella blinked back her surprise. She’d never heard Joe raise his voice higher than a burst of laughter, nor had she ever seen that steely look in his eyes.
“For your mother’s sake,” he added with more calm, and settled his focus on Mariella.
Mariella’s tanned cheeks flushed. She pulled her imported Italian lace shawl tighter around her narrow shoulders.
“At least let’s get out of the hallway and go into the reception room for privacy,” Joe suggested.
* * *
The hot air slowly seeped from the room as the family split off to their respective corners, duly chastised.
Joe moved closer to Mariella, placed a firm hand of comfort on her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. She looked up into Joe’s eyes for reassurance. He gave her a short nod.
Mariella drew in a deep breath, regained her composure and her position as the de facto head of the family. Whatever misgivings she might have about her husband—and she had many—she would not let her family fall apart by allowing them to tear one another to pieces. No matter what their differences, they were family first. It was her responsibility now to keep them together and focused. And it was her fault for suggesting one of them was the Fixer in the first place.
“Joe’s right,” Mariella said. She pinned each of her children with her infamous mother glare. One by one their combative postures eased. They knew that when their mother shot them that look she was a breath away from one of her epic tirades, and no one would be spared. “This is not the time or the place. As much as I want to put my faith in the discretion of the staff here, we cannot risk them overhearing anything that shows any type of weakness or fracture in our family.” She slightly raised her chin. “Everyone has a price,” she added, knowing that her family understood exactly what she meant. “So we will smile, keep our voices down and act like we love each other. That means all of you.”
Elana flopped down on one of the overstuffed white leather side chairs that sat beneath a large expressionist abstract by Jackson Pollock. She crossed her long bare legs and dropped her Chanel purse next to her.
Luc turned toward the panoramic window that overlooked the lush grounds of Whispering Oaks. The one-way windows allowed one to see out, but every space inside the facility was shielded from prying eyes. He slung his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked his chiseled jaw.
Gabe, quiet as ever, stood off to the side, watching.
Rafe’s eyes settled on Joe’s hand that still rested on his mother’s shoulder. Unlike his self-absorbed sister and brother, Rafe’s attention focused on his mother and Joe. Joe’s seemingly assuring touch wasn’t as innocent as it appeared, no matter how Joe tried to play it. Joe lowered his hand to his side and moved slightly away from Mariella as if pulled by invisible strings. Rafe didn’t miss that, either.
Mariella centered herself in the room. She glanced from one child to the next. “As much as I’d like to pretend that this whole nightmare with your father was some freak accident, I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Luc interjected, turning from his spot at the window. “What else could it be?
Mariella absently ran her long fingers through her hair. Violet-colored taaffeite studs sparkled in her lobes, and a single matching stone hung from a thin platinum chain around her neck giving the impression that the rare diamond sat magically at her throat. Both had been a twentieth-anniversary gift—Harrison had had them specially made when he’d visited Tanzania, the only place in the world other than Sri Lanka where the rare gem could be found. She fingered the stone at her throat. “The more I think about it, the more we can’t pretend this is some ordinary accident. Your father is an expert driver. He always has been, and he’s raced around that highway for decades.
“And there is someone working behind the scenes—the Fixer. We don’t know who the Fixer is or what their agenda is,” she said while her free hand gestured in the air. “For all we know, it could be a move to somehow get their claws on Marshall International, starting with getting...rid of your father.”
Luc’s eyes narrowed. Elana sat up straighter, and Rafe’s lean frame tensed.
“Why would this person want to hurt Dad?” Luc asked.
“You really believe that, Mom?” Rafe asked. “But the Fixer set up that fake interview to show Dad was recovering.”
Mariella shook her head. “I don’t know, but there’s something else. There’s an account that has nothing to do with the business.” The room grew deathly silent. She’d debated whether or not to tell her children what she’d accidentally come across. But they needed to know.
Gabe spoke up for